Locked Box
by Narcis7
Summary: An old enemy manipulates the Light and Dark Fae to go to war. Caught in the crossfire, Bo learns about her heritage as she struggles with her relationships; meanwhile, her friends have their own difficult journeys to go through. Ensemble piece with a Doccubus slant.


**A/N**: I started slowly writing this during the S2-3 hiatus with a whole bunch of ideas still nestled in my brain. There will be some initial similarities with the current season, namely dealing with DarkBo, Dyson's love, etc, but most of it will quickly diverge from canon. In my head, it's going to be really long (and awesome), but between my priorities and paranoid editing, don't count on it update-wise. Enjoy S3 in the meantime. :)

**Thanks** to beta gategirl7 who's a cool DyBo shipper. All mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer**: Playing with borrowed toys.

* * *

Their bare legs tangled intimately beneath red satin sheets, further warmed by sunlight streaming through the gaps in the boarded up windows. Bo lay snug against Lauren whose breathing was calming down. Her own body was abuzz from arousal; feeling content, Bo kissed her shoulder. The blonde turned to look at her, bright eyed from the succubus wake-up call, with a knowing smile that sparked an intense feeling of happiness within Bo.

"You're outdoing yourself," Lauren said.

"And that's a bad thing?" she asked, silently proud that her girlfriend had noticed her effort and talent.

"It means," Lauren brushed wayward strands of hair from Bo's face, "I might come to expect this from you every morning," she said tenderly.

Bo smiled at the sentiment behind the words "every morning". There was no doubt in her mind that Lauren felt the same way about their stable, burgeoning relationship. She had been mulling over taking the next emotional step. Their depth of trust in each other gave her comfort that Lauren wouldn't break her heart and had shown time and again that she accepted all that the succubus was. Bo opened her mouth to speak, about to ask Lauren to sort of move in with her, but the sense of vulnerability suddenly scared her.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Lauren cupped Bo's face with a hand: brown eyes gazed at her, looking worried, and Bo realized Lauren thought she had upset her with the subtle reminder that they were living on stolen time. The Stag Hunt hadn't yet been announced and the threat of a new Ash loomed over Lauren's newfound freedom with each passing day. "I'm here, Bo, and so are you. That's all that matters."

"No, it wasn't about that." _Screw it_, she thought. "I've been thinking...I'd like to spend more time with you. I know you have your own apartment but would you like to bring some of your stuff over? I've cleared out a drawer for you," she added on Kenzi's advice not to overwhelm.

Lauren was unexpectedly quiet and Bo watched the doctor withdraw into her thoughts to weigh the options. She felt the seconds dragged on as Lauren looked conflicted. The tell tale sign that logic had won in her inner battle was when the doctor explained patiently, "It means a lot to me that you asked, but who knows what the new Ash wants. Things with the Fae are complicated and I know you care. It's just..." Lauren paused, studying the way Bo was looking at her and not really listening to the rejection.

Bo had a niggling, spiteful thought that repeated, "I told you so."

"What I really mean to say is," Lauren smiled as she interlaced their fingers, "I'd only have a drawer?"

* * *

A loud _BEEP BEEP BEEP _rang out from the kitchen.

Kenzi yawned and stretched her full length on the tired looking couch. The morning news was quietly droning on the TV and its tiny clock on the top corner read half past seven. Kenzi sat up, groggy, and shielded her dreary eyes from the sunlight piercing through the windows. "Why do I feel hungover?!" she whined after a glimpse at the lack of alcoholic bottles on the coffee table. "The curse of being Russian," she muttered, pulling up her long sleeved black sweater and scratched at the barely visible rash on her forearm. The moans coming from upstairs sounded distinctly Lauren, which Kenzi found strange as Lauren was normally considerate of the roomie in the morning. "Baby girl be bangin'! Woop woop!" Kenzi raised the roof and did a seated jig at the realization that Bo had taken a big step forward in maturity.

She dug her hand deep into the left side of the couch to drag up a small white tube, the label obviously torn off, and applied the ointment on her arms, neck and abdomen. "Cray cray magic has nothing on you, generic pharmaceutical brand," she told the tube before returning it to its hiding place.

Something beeped again. Kenzi got up and went to the source: Lauren's beige work bag laid on the tidy kitchen counter. She fumbled within the bag packed with plastic files of documents, makeup and a leather wallet she had gone through before and pulled out the black pager-that beeped again. "One light six zero," she read. "Lauren!" she yelled. "Work's calling you! Stop licking ass and get down here!" She waited for an answer; the sex noises only grew louder that she attributed to Bo exerting even more effort to keep Lauren in bed. Kenzi took the pager with her as she went upstairs.

"Put on some clothes, girlies, 'cause mama's coming in!" Kenzi announced in the hallway. There was a squeal-Lauren-a giggly whisper-Bo-and Kenzi rolled her eyes despite a small smile at how happy her best friend was. She stopped at the doorway and found them modestly wrapped in red sheets up to their underarms, cheeks pinked and hair mussed. In contrast to Bo's vibrancy, Lauren looked more weary from her tenth night here. Kenzi made a mental note to speak with Bo about needing to let Lauren sleep more. "Damn thing woke me up." She threw the pager at the doctor and it landed on her stomach. "Sounds urgent. What's for breakfast?"

Lauren picked it up. "I could make pancakes and bacon—shit," she cursed upon reading the message and scrambled naked out of bed with a rush for her scattered clothes. Kenzi shut her eyes in disgust while Bo looked on perplexed.

Kenzi turned around and walked away from Lauren dressing quickly. "Let me know when there's breakfast."

"Lauren-" Bo started to get out of bed.

"A Light Fae Elder has been murdered." Lauren pulled on her jeans to complete her white shirt outfit, grabbed her necklace from the bedside table and pecked Bo on the lips. "I'll talk to you later."

"Anything I can...help with?" Bo trailed off as Lauren had left the room and slumped back to kneeling on the bed. "Must be Tuesday," she grumbled.

* * *

The sun was rising just above the horizon of roofs, painting the blanket of clouds with blended hues of blue and pink. The birds had begun to chirp. A dark grey car with a police beacon drove through the pristine street lined with suburban family houses and uniform gardens. It was peaceful. Dyson thought Bo would love to settle down in a place like this with him.

"First case since the Garuda and it's big one. You up for it?" Hale broke the silence in the passenger seat.

"I'm all right," Dyson replied, even though he could hardly believe who the victim was. The car cruised towards the cul de sac up ahead, where a small group of neighbors, some still dressed in their pyjamas, gossiped among themselves on the street opposite the cordoned crime scene. He had been here a few years ago to help secure the Sequoia's latest safehouse with three other high ranking, trustworthy guards; the only stark contrast was the bustling of police activity in the unassuming property.

"Have you told her yet?" Hale unbuckled his seat belt and righted his fedora as the car slowed to a stop. Curious faces surreptitiously peered through the car windows at them.

"No." He wasn't in the mood to discuss his love life with his friend right now. Hale looked like he thought he had offended Dyson. He sighed that his partner was younger and more inexperienced than him and as such, wasn't privy to the inner political workings and the murder's true import. "She's been busy with Lauren," Dyson added to soften the perceived blow.

Hale shifted to face him. "Look man, you gotta tell her. The sooner the better. Stop waiting for the right moment. Rock up to her door, grab her, and just tell her. Then—" he moved his hips up and down in his seat, grabbing the phantom butt in front of him. "You like that baby? You like that? Say my-"

"Hale." Dyson smirked and glanced at the neighbors giving them weird looks.

Hale coughed into his fist. "Right. You know what I'm sayin'."

"Yeah," he smiled confidently, "I'm not giving up."

"That's my man."

As soon as they got out of the car, Dyson was struck with the thick smoky stench coming from the house. Hale went ahead of him while he surveyed the surroundings: the front windows and door weren't broken through; the manicured lawn wasn't disturbed nor was there any obvious sign of someone having had hidden within the bushes; no smell of gunpowder or blood. An officer directed Hale to stop before the open front door; he gingerly sidestepped a heaping pile of small chunky bones and ash sitting in a blackened oval, just past the swinging arc of the door. Dyson followed.

"What have you got, Dave?" Hale asked a balding officer waiting for them by the ashes.

"The property belongs to James McDougall," Dave read from the notebook fitted in his palm. "Fifty five year old Caucasian male. Neighbors said he lived alone. Nice guy. Smoke alarms in the house were activated this morning at around six am and the firefighters found this." He gestured at the ashes. "Pure luck they didn't step on it if you ask me. The front door was open when they arrived so they called us. Nothing seems to be taken. No forced entry." He looked up from his notes. "We're still looking for other evidence but we've got nothing so far. The boys are having a bet whether he's been kidnapped or this is him. Anyway," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Dr. Lewis will be doing the forensics so if you ask me, I think the Sequoia got a Dark one." He mimed slicing across his neck.

Dyson had a gut feeling Dave might be right: such a clean kill reeked of an opportunistic assassination to further weaken the leaderless Light Fae. It bothered him how the enemy had killed the powerful Elder. "Thanks, Dave," he said. Dave took the hint and left them alone. Dyson squatted to take a closer look. The mixture of bones and whitish powder lay on the scorched floor, spread roughly the width of a man. The direction of the scattered ashes towards the back of the house indicated the wind came from the front door. Dyson glanced around to make sure no human was watching him and let his senses change. The colors in his vision dulled but he could hear Hale's heartbeat next to him. He reined in the urge to complete the wolf transformation and inhaled deeply: there was no smell of cooked flesh beneath the smoky malodor. From what he knew, few fae and artifacts were capable of such power to immediately reduce the Elder to ash and bones, which narrowed down their search field. Dyson stood up, his senses relaxing to normalcy, but a bad feeling still gnawed at him.

"Anything?" Hale asked.

"Something _very _strong killed him."

"Some sort of fire fae?"

"It's possible, but he was a mimir." Hale seemed surprised by the quiet revelation. "Argonaut was a cover," Dyson shared the top secret the Elder's daughter had once told him. "Mimirs are very rare. They can read all possible realities from a person's intention. It's why he's been our military adviser since the Great War and when shit hits the fan, we get him out first before anyone else."

"So he's like our Magic 8-Ball."

"Yeah, and someone broke our ball." Hale sniggered. "Anyway, he should have known what was going to happen and he was one of our best warriors." Dyson looked around the neat living room and it hit him. "He didn't put up a fight."

"Maybe they killed him before he knew they were going to kill him," Hale guessed.

"Or he wanted to die." Dyson frowned. Both their speculations sounded nothing like the man he had known nor had there been any recent rumor about the Elder. "Trick might know something."

Lauren strode quickly towards them on the tiled pathway in a blue biohazard protective suit. The officer gestured for her to be careful of the ashes; she placed her metallic briefcase near the front door and put on a pair of gloves. "Sorry I'm late."

The feeling of possessiveness over his mate flared up when Dyson detected the tell-tale musky pheromones on the doctor. The drawn look on her face suggested sleep deprivation, something he knew too well from having had been with the succubus. He smiled tightly at Lauren. They needed to work together despite the simmering tension between them. "We only just arrived," he said.

"Hey Doc," Hale greeted. "I'm gonna check out the front, see what we missed."

Dyson nodded. "I'll look around here."

A forensic assistant passed the doctor a clipboard of notes and verbally updated her on their collective findings while she nodded and flipped through the sheaf of papers. As professional and in charge as she was at ordering her team to bag this and cut that, Dyson was reminded of a pup trying to dominate its littermates.

Dyson went over to the black framed photographs that were on the wall. Here was James McDougall squatting beside a young boy in a garden, their heights level, and pointing at the camera to direct the distracted child. His wrinkled face contrasted with his grandson's youthfulness, along with McDougall's titian hair to the boy's brunette. In a series of black-and-white photographs, clockwise in the layout of a square: a proud McDougall held hands with the tearful smiling bride; she waved at the camera with her loving husband from the limousine sunroof; a close up of a sleeping bundled baby; three generations of McDougalls sat for a traditional family portrait, his genial-looking wife beside him and his daughter cradled her baby with her husband.

He recognized none of McDougall's real family members in them.

_Jean_. Her name came to him suddenly; with a pretty face, twinkling hazel eyes and red hair like her father's_._ It was her smile that had first captivated him when they had met in Lord McDougall's court centuries ago. He had been consumed by pain and grief after the death of Stefan and loss of Ciara to the Fairy King; and she had been in want of a romantic adventure. He should have had known better than to fool around with a mimir's daughter. A tingle of fear ran down his spine at the memory of the rageful Sequoia tearing up the air with his power when they had been caught in her bedroom, looking nothing like the happy old man in the photographs.

It was a mistake he was still paying for.

He was about to leave the living room to search the rest of the house for clues when Lauren spoke to him while carefully picking up the small chunks of bones with a forceps and depositing them into a plastic container.

"How have you been, Dyson?"

"Very well, thanks for asking."

She paused from what she was doing and looked up at him. "I haven't seen you since the Garuda. If you need to talk-"

"I don't."

"I meant with Bo. If you need to talk to her, I can help." He was surprised and puzzled by her generosity in offering Bo to him; the slight raise of his eyebrows betrayed his emotions. "I know we both care about her but I'm not so childish that I see you as the enemy."

He didn't know what the doctor's motives were but he was near his wit's end about Bo. "I'd appreciate it."

"We'll meet you at the Dal tonight." She looked back down to resume her work.

"Lauren," he said, and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt by accepting the olive branch, "I might be free for a medical exam next week."

She smiled. "That'll be great."

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but take a look at this," Hale said, half bent over and staring at the off-white tile before the entrance. Two tiny holes, a few inches apart, and another exact set about a foot away had been imprinted in the 2x1 foot tile. Fine lines radiated from the punctures. Hale gestured with a glance behind himself. "I found this all down the path, zig zag like foot prints. Some of them don't have these so it's not part of the pattern. And it's fresh. Watch." Inhaling, he whistled at a pair of holes almost soundlessly: dust from the surrounding ground and air were sucked into them, reforming the piece of tile perfectly. "The marks stop here." He pointed at the ones by their feet. "There's none past the door. Looks like our guy walked right up and killed him when he let him in."

"Good work," Dyson said. "He might have known his killer."

"You think it's one of the Light Fae?' Hale asked. "Elder Mac-D has always been popular with everybody."

"I don't know, but we can't rule out that possibility. Not many people knew what he was and all the evidence we have so far suggests that someone close to him is involved. We'll need to look into our own ranks."

"It could be the Dark," Lauren suggested.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Hale agreed. "Besides, we can't go snooping around our own without eliminating the obvious first. Bo might be able to help."


End file.
